


The Scent of Snow

by hannibalsbattlebot



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, mentions of Molly/Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 21:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13132233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalsbattlebot/pseuds/hannibalsbattlebot
Summary: Hannibal and Will spend their third Christmas together and confront some ghosts of the past.





	The Scent of Snow

Snow wasn’t a novelty to Will. He spent his pre-Hannibal life alternating between hot and cold places, and this pattern continued after they fled together. Last year, they had spent a lovely fall in the Adirondacks, but left before the first real snow fall of the year began. Will didn’t question when Hannibal said it was time to go. Once or twice it had been Will’s call, but Hannibal could smell danger in the air like an animal downwind from fire.

They had moved here from Bali a week or so ago. T here had been no urgency, no inciting event that Will knew of.  Will touched the corner of the window where it had fogged over and drew a line of clarity. Maybe Hannibal was keeping something from him. He ran through their last days in Bali in his mind, looking for the snag that prompted them to pack house and go back to North America. Maybe they were running towards something. They were a few hours drive from the Canada/US border. From there they could drive anywhere, visit anyone.

“What’s on your mind?”

The question came from the other side of the room where Hannibal sat. During their travels, when sometimes they had to hunker down for their own safety, his restless and precise hands had taken up needlework. Now he was doing some fine embroidery on white linen of heliotrope and hyacinth; a very springtime motif considering the weather outside. Even with his hands busy, Hannibal’s mind was alert and he has sensed something about Will, perhaps something as simple as a change in his breathing or posture that signified a shift in his thoughts.

“We’ve never spent Christmas somewhere with snow,” Will said. “Our first Christmas was in Cuba, the next was in Indonesia. I was starting to think it was on purpose.”

“It was,” Hannibal said.

“Why?”

“Associations. For both of us.”

Will used his sleave to wipe the corner of the window where he sat, giving himself a clear view of the yard. Moonlight spread evenly over the blanket of snow that fan unblemished to the strand of trees in the distance. “I’m not a very festive person.” 

Hannibal pulled a bright blue thread through the fabric, his thin needle flashing before it dove back down.

“Why change things now?” Will asked.

Hannibal placed his needle for the next stitch before he went on. “I think you are ready to face some things about your past.”

Will heaved himself up from his chair by the window. This was taking the shape of something more than a casual conversation. “What else do I have to face, doctor? In the time we’ve been acquainted, I’ve plumbed the depth of every dark impulse, desire and memory I’ve ever had. There’s nothing left.”

“What about the good things?” Hannibal asked.

Will furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

Hannibal set aside his needlework.

“When was the last Christmas you spent where it was snowing like this?”

“In Maine,” Will said and reluctantly added, “with Walter and Molly.”

“How was that Christmas?”

Will plunged his hands into his pockets. “It was fine. Why are we talking about this?”

They had never actually stated that talk of Will’s life with Molly was off-limits, but they had never talked about it except in the most oblique, circuitous fashion.

“I think you are ready to face that time of your life,” Hannibal said. “As am I. Tell me about Christmas with your family.”

Will sighed but when the silence stretched he realized Hannibal was not going to relent until he got what he wanted. 

“There was snow. Lots of it. It fell so heavy all sound was muffled. We had a real tree and it smelled...first it smelled like snow and cold and then, as the fire in the main room warmed it, the resinous smell of sap. It didn't bring up any memories of childhood for me. I don't know if I ever had a real Christmas tree." He had a few memories of a prickly artificial tree he and his father had for a few years. He was sure there were some years when there wasn't one at all. "Molly had boxes of ornaments and we put them up, all three of us together. There were a few she set back in the box. They had too many memories.” He frowned, feeling he was getting off track. “Other than that it was almost idyllic. Molly put on jazzy Christmas carols and made cocoa with milk, not from a mix. It was a little rich for my taste, but the sweet smell completed the scene. Cocoa, evergreen, the wood fire, the slight lamby smell of our wool sweaters damp with melting snow.”

He went over and sat next to Hannibal. He was starting to warm to the idea of saying “Molly” and “Walter” to Hannibal.  

“When Walter went to bed Molly and I stayed up and talked and looked at the tree. The cocoa was better with peppermint schnapps. We didn’t want the moment to end.” He remembered how the evening ended. They lit candles in the bedroom and made love. In the morning they made love again, tunneling under the blankets and laughing over their cold feet and noses. He had pressed his cold nose against her neck and between her breasts. She had yelped and tried to swat him away through the blankets.

“How did you feel?”

“It felt normal. It felt good,” he said. Will maintained eye contact with Hannibal.  “Do you want me to say I felt empty inside? Going through the motions while I pined for you? I didn’t. I wasn’t even thinking about you.”

Hannibal accepted this blow with a blink. He had been ready for it. “Tell me about Christmas day.”

“We had coffee and opened presents. Molly made the coffee extra strong. Walter...." He smiled and ducked his head self consciously, still shielding Hannibal from seeing the joy his family had given him. "He wasn't always the most demonstrative kid. But no kid can resist Christmas. He was smiling from ear to ear, bouncing around, handing out all the gifts. He was just as excited to watch me and Molly open our gifts." Will thought Hannibal made a sound, like a light throat-clearing. "Wally gave me that cologne you hate. I thought about you then, just for a moment. It didn’t last long, like a freak flash of lightening during a snow shower. It turned out Molly was your unknowing accomplice on that one. Molly told Walter to get it for me. She knew I used to wear it, but she didn’t know why I stopped.”

“It is a perfect gift for a child to give.”

“I appreciated the sentiment, if not the physical gift itself. I even wore it from time to time. Molly always pointed out that I smelled nice, so Walter knew I was using his present.”

“What did you get for Walter?”

It was strange hearing that name in Hannibal's mouth.

“It was a fly-tying kit. Maybe not the best choice, but he loved it. He wanted me to show him how to do it, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I never went fishing in Maine, not once, although Molly and Walter both loved it. I couldn’t. It was ruined for me. But that was all right. I didn’t need to.”

“You were happy there.”

“I was. I loved Molly.” 

When he and Molly met, Will had immediately sensed a void inside her. She was a widow who wasn’t done being a wife. He felt that about her. She was brimming with affection and care and needed someone to pour it into. Will wasn’t especially proud to have been an empty vessel, scooped out and unmoored by all that had happened to him. He stepped into the shower of Molly's light and soaked it up like healing. When he realized he was out of immediate danger and still wanted to be with her, he proposed. It surprised them both. They married on the beach, bare toes curled into warm Florida sand.

“What changed for you? From that picture-perfect Christmas?”

He knew it changed. It had to have changed or else Will wouldn’t be there.

“Jack came. I knew I couldn’t avoid it off forever. I managed to keep my conjoined self quiet, but he was still there. It felt heavy, like a pregnancy.” Will twined his fingers with Hannibal.”I did love Molly. I can’t lie about that.”

“With all of your heart?”

“I don’t know if I believe in that.”

“The part of you that was joined to me? How did he feel?”

“He was quiet.”

“Will," Hannibal said, mild reproach in his voice. "You have been honest with the truths that hurt me.”

Will sighed. He was right. 

“No,” he said. “He wasn’t in love with her. He couldn't be. He only wanted you, always you.”

Will let go of Hannibal’s hand but only so he could move himself into Hannibal’s lap. He buried his face in Hannibal’s neck.

“I had gotten him to be so quiet, I started to believe he might be quiet forever. When I read that letter from you, he howled.” His grip on Hannibal’s arm tightened. “I loved Molly. I loved her in a desperate way because I knew she was good and I couldn’t keep her. The time we had together ticking down from the moment we said our vows. I felt a nostalgia for the present, because I knew it wasn’t going to last. I didn’t deserve Molly. I deserve you.”

Hannibal couldn’t bring himself to praise Molly. She was banal in every way. He could see the appeal for Will, but he couldn’t laud her mediocrity.

“I am glad she was there for you,” Hannibal said finally. “I wasn’t thankful for it at the time, but now I see she kept you safe for me.”

Hannibal remembered the words Will had said to him in one of their unofficial sessions:  _ you don’t want me to have anything in my life that isn’t you _ . As usual, Will had cutting insight. 

“I am thankful that Molly kept you safe while I was gone. You were still there, whole and well when I saw you again. That was by no means a given.” Hannibal squeezed him tight and buried his face in Will’s hair.

“How did you feel when I wanted to destroy Molly?,” Hannibal murmured into Will’s curls.

“I was angry because she was good. She wasn't perfect but she was human. Her sins were venial, not mortal.”

Hannibal nodded, which Will could feel but not see. “And so, she lives.”

 

Will rose the next day, Christmas day, before Hannibal. He got dressed as quietly as he could and went out. It wasn't that early, but the winter morning was still middling dark. He walked slowly to the woodpile, making tracks in the snow. He wanted to have the fire going before Hannibal woke, but knew he would come back to the cabin, arms full of kindling, to find Hannibal in his mild morning dishevelment already started on breakfast.

This Christmas with Hannibal would be his happiest. There wouldn’t be the ghosts of bitter arguments they had in Cuba, or the mind-obliterating humid denial of Indonesia. This Christmas would smell of mulled wine and roasted meat, anise cookies, wood fire and the lamby smell of a damp tweed jacket. But he wanted it to start like this: the scent of snow. Will filled his lungs with the morning air, the scent so crisp and cold it was purifying.


End file.
